


careless in its choosing

by noobishere



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noobishere/pseuds/noobishere
Summary: Ed Sheeran said you can't fall in love in a club, Robbe calls bullshit.(a.k.a they fall in love... somewhere in between)
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83





	careless in its choosing

**Author's Note:**

> to all ed sheeran fans, it's just a joke

When Ed Sheeran said the club isn't the best place to find a lover, Robbe truly believes the man was onto something. Granted, the loud music isn't really conducive for any conversation to take place to have a meaningful connection, but what he's witnessing definitely attests to the aforementioned sentiment. 

It's nothing new, Jens striking up a conversation with a girl as he shuffles his feet in a way that could be passed off as somewhat dancing, while Moyo is going all out with his moves even though it somehow never works. Robbe thinks it's the air of frantic desperation surrounding his two friends that's putting off girls. 

And Aaron is besides himself, smack dab in the middle of the dancing crowd, jumping and yelling at some poor girl's ears, spilling his drink. 

The only connection to be had with a person you meet in a club is of the sexual kind. The grinding bodies are proof enough, and the two people he can make out from the corner of his eye, well, making out against a wall. 

Robbe brings his pint glass up to his lips, about to take a swig of his beer when he sees him. 

Scratch that.

Ed Sheeran didn't know shit when he said what he said about clubs and lovers, because right across the room from where Robbe is leaning against the bar, over the sea of gyrating bodies, is possibly the hottest guy he's ever laid eyes on, staring right at him and rooting him to the spot.

It doesn’t help that the bright neon lights choose that moment to shine on the guy, washing his face in shadows that make his eyes gleam even brighter. It does help emphasise his jawline, though, and the white hair is doing wonders, contrasting the all black aesthetic he’s got going on.

Robbe isn’t sure the thumping beat he can feel through his chest is the music or his heart, but he’s sure he can feel his ears go numb with heat, hoping the shitty lighting — if not the distance between them — would save him the embarrassment of being caught blushing while making eyes at a stranger. 

He drops his gaze to his glass, takes a deep calming breath and tentatively looks up, only to promptly lose his breath again.

Hot Guy is still _watching_ and it’s even worse when he’s less intense about it; eyes gentle amidst loud music and harsh lighting, made softer with that small smile that Robbe can make out from where he’s standing, secretive, like he knows something Robbe doesn’t.

Robbe licks his lip, throat feeling parched all of a sudden. He goes for a sip of that beer he’s somehow still holding, gaze never leaving Hot Guy’s, but instead of cool liquid going down his throat, he feels it trickling down the front of his t-shirt.

He splutters, looking between his damp front and his hand holding his glass that’s now almost empty. Against his better judgment, Robbe’s eyes shoot toward Hot Guy only to see him smiling so wide, utterly amused by Robbe’s display of ineptitude in drinking a glass of beer.

Of course he’d make a fool of himself in front of the first guy that’s shown blatant interest in a long time. 

Robbe turns his back to the guy, thinking he’s had enough of embarrassing himself for the night and asks for a top up from the bartender. He takes a peek from behind his shoulder, and is disappointed to see the spot where Hot Guy was standing empty.

Half an hour later, the boys have had enough of this place and they wear their jacket to migrate to another place that’s quieter and more familiar. Robbe sweeps his gaze across the floor to maybe catch another glance of those bright eyes, sighing deeply when he doesn’t, and chalks it off as rotten luck.

  
  


*

  
  


They’re at the bar by the corner, arguing about the best way to bullshit through an assignment when the bell by the door tinkles. Robbe has his back to it, doesn’t bother turning around to see the newcomer, but Moyo, who’s facing the door, ducks down and whispers excitedly.

“Dude, isn’t that Noor?!”

And because Robbe is friends with idiots, himself included, they all turn to look. 

No offence to Noor, she looks great, as usual, but Robbe’s vision is tunneling on the person that came in with her, looking just as regal as he did in the club. 

What are the odds that Hot Guy is also Noor’s friend?

Robbe _hopes_ he’s Noor’s friend and not something more. 

Now that they’re in a well-lit setting, Robbe can study him better, and boy, is he going to curse at every deity in existence if this guy somehow turns out to be straight. White hair, windswept, _probably biked here,_ Robbe’s mind supplies, hands tucked in the pockets of his black leather jacket, _dear God_ , and legs for days; his footsteps heavy as he scans for a table, and Robbe swears his heart stops the same moment those boots click to a halt.

Robbe is aware he’s ogling, he thinks his mouth is ajar, but he can’t help it. Because Hot Guy is also staring at him, eyes wide, before they curl into lovely half moons as he smiles so widely, Robbe ends up returning it too.

His eyes are glued to the guy as he takes a step towards his table, watches the way his face lights up when he realises Noor is also moving in the same direction. Moyo and Aaron have been waving at her, apparently.

“Hey boys,” Noor greets. She’s already taking off her jacket, draping it across the back of a chair next to Moyo and plops down with a cheery smile.

Hot Guy does the same, plopping down on the seat next to Robbe, and Robbe freezes when he leans close, voice deep and full of mischief as he says, “Empty glass and not a single drop. Impressive.”

Ignoring the way his heart stutters, Robbe rolls his eyes, grumbling, “I can drink just fine.”

“You guys know each other?”

Both Robbe and Hot Guy turn to look at everyone at the table, looking at them, equally confused.

“Oh, I’m Sander, by the way,” Hot Guy — Sander — says instead, before shaking his head, smirking as he gives Robbe a sideways glance, “and not really, but we saw each other at the club.”

_Saw_ is a bit of an understatement, but Robbe refuses to provide more information, grinning when Sander bumps their shoulders.

“Okay...” Jens squints at them, but introduces himself anyway. Moyo and Aaron doing the same.

Robbe would have introduced himself too, but he’s too busy trying to figure out how to ask if Sander and Noor are together; even though he’s sensing the two’s back and forth to be purely platonic, one can never be too sure. He doesn’t notice that everyone is waiting for him to speak up until Jens calls his name out.

“Robbe.”

“Huh?”

Jens nods his chin towards Sander, widening his eyes slightly. “It’s your turn.”

Robbe frowns. “My turn?”

“Introduce yourself to me, Robbe,” Sander says. He has his chin propped up on the heel of his palm, looking far too entertained.

“Yes, Robbe, introduce yourself,” Moyo joins in.

“Oh great,” Robbe says flatly, glaring at Sander. “You fit right in with the boys.” 

Sander’s only response is to grin at him, and Robbe hates that he finds even his teeth attractive.

"So how do you guys know Noor?"

The boys take an exaggerated sharp breath, covering their mouths dramatically. Robbe groans at their reaction, smiling ruefully when Noor giggles.

"Robbe and I were together," Noor answers, short and succinct, just like their time together. 

Something about the way Noor is looking at Sander meaningfully has him sitting up straight and going, "Oh," while looking at Robbe like he's just realised who he is. "You're _the_ ex, huh."

Noor nods solemnly, lips twitching. 

"I was deep in the closet, okay," Robbe splutters, feeling the need to defend himself. "I was kinda desperate to get these idiots off my case."

Robbe had stopped resenting his friends long ago, but talking about his years before coming out is always a sore subject. Oftentimes, the air is always laced with deep guilt from both him and the boys, so he'd rather not even mention it. 

Aaron, bless the guy, powers through the awkward silence and directly addresses Sander.

"What about you and Noor?"

At Sander's raised brow, he stumbles over his words but manages to bluntly ask what Robbe is dying to know, and by the looks of it, Moyo too. "You guys together or…?"

Sander snorts at the same time Noor cackles.

"Nope." "Noooo."

Robbe laughs at their reactions, both looking a mixture of disturbed and amused at the mere prospect. Maybe he's also laughing because of the immense relief he feels that Sander isn't in any way romantically involved with his ex-girlfriend, but that's nobody's business but his. 

Despite the awkward start, conversations start to flow. They catch up with Noor, Sander adding flair to whatever anecdote Noor is recounting, making everyone laugh. Robbe finds out that Sander is in his final year in college, taking arts. 

“Maybe you can pose for me.” Sander waggles his eyebrows at him.

Robbe chokes on his drink. “Like, nude?!”

Everyone bursts into raucous laughter, which is fair, but Robbe is more entranced by the way Sander is hiding his smile into his glass, mumbling, “If you’d like.”

Eventually, Noor gets tired of being the only girl in the group and excuses herself, Sander follows suit, but not without heaving out a deep sigh; his movements are slow as he puts on his jacket.

Noor waits by the door as Sander hovers, biting his lip before shoving his hands into his pockets. “See you guys around,” he says.

Robbe watches Sander’s retreating back with growing disappointment. He slumps down on the table when the door clicks shut. 

All at once, the boys talk over each other.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Holy shit, that was painful to watch.”

“Dude, you could have at least asked for his number.”

Robbe responds with a pitiful whine.

  
  


*

  
  


The next day, Robbe wakes up with a bitch of a hangover and a few texts from Noor.

_earthlingoddity_

_That’s his insta handle_

_He’s pining, by the way_

_Please save him_

Robbe sits up so quickly his head spins, instantly typing in the username in his search feed. Last night he’d ended up sulking and drinking himself stupid after Sander left and Jens and Moyo kept terrorising him, he didn’t have time to stalk the guy on social media. 

This is a gift he’s not going to turn down. He types a quick thanks to Noor before he dives into Sander’s account.

Oh, he’s an art student, alright. 

Robbe smiles at the black and white posts; most of them being shots of sketches, paintings and graffitis with weird captions that he can’t even begin to understand. He finds himself stuck on the most recent one, a heavily edited picture of Sander himself looking down at his camera, distorted. Robbe googles the caption and finds out it’s a lyric from a Bowie song.

It isn’t exactly his cup of tea, but he searches for the song on his Spotify and plays it anyway. The first few notes of a bass guitar repetitive enough for him to get into the song, he closes his eyes and pays attention to the lyrics. Halfway through the song, Robbe decides that Sander is a dramatic bastard.

He likes the post, follows Sander, and goes straight to his DM.

_could’ve just asked noor for my number_

_this is robbe, by the way_

_:)_

He closes instagram and goes to take a shower, smiling all the way through, still smiling as he towels his hair dry and sees that Sander has followed him back and replied.

_Hello Robbe, this is Sander :)_

_And what can I say, I’m a gentleman_

_self-proclaimed_

_it’s cool, though_

_you could’ve just asked her_

_i wouldn’t have minded_

_In that case_

_Can I have your number, please?_

Robbe sends it to him and waits for a text. When his phone rings, however, Robbe’s eyes widen, and he chokes on his own saliva when he sees Sander’s profile picture displayed on his screen.

Who even does phone calls in this day and age, much less a video-call? He doesn’t even call Jens, who he’s known since school unless it’s an emergency, their mobile interactions purely textual. That’s how it should be: calls are reserved for emergencies and parents.

Squaring his shoulders, Robbe takes a deep breath before he answers the call, angling his phone towards his face, feeling absolutely awkward doing so.

It’s worth it for the way Sander’s face fills up his screen, though, a bright smile on.

“You took your time answering, didn’t you.”

Robbe tries not to look at his own face tucked into a square at the bottom corner, because he knows he is flushed red. “I don’t really do phone calls.”

“But you answered anyway,” Sander points out, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“I can hang up right now,” Robbe warns, his thumb hovering over the end call button.

Sander pouts. It’s slight, the way he pushes his lips together, but it _is_ a pout, and Robbe has never felt more charmed than he is at that moment. He finds himself smiling in return, and before he knows it, it’s another ten minutes before they actually end the call.

  
  


*

  
  


The next time he sees Sander, it’s completely unexpected.

They’ve been texting for a few days now, from the mundane to the serious; from sending memes and dumb pictures to talking about their deepest fears. Robbe loves it, it’s the highlight of the day whenever he hears his phone pings, knowing it’s a text from Sander because he’s the only person Robbe has been talking to constantly as of recently.

But texting and seeing are two different things. While he’s grown a lot more comfortable with Sander through texts, face to face interactions are a lot more personal and intimate, and other than that one video call, it’s been almost four days since he last saw Sander in that bar.

Naturally, it’s right when he’s building momentum to tip the tail of his skateboard for a flip trick that he sees Sander. With his focus botched, he falls on his ass, his skateboard rolling off and stopping right where Sander is standing at the edge of grass and cement.

“Not a word,” Robbe warns. He’s lying on his back, chest heaving as he tries to get his breathing right; Sander’s all but a black silhouette as he looms over Robbe, but Robbe can feel him smirking. 

“That was extremely graceful.”

“Fuck you.”

He takes the proffered hand, pulling himself up.

Coming toe to toe with Sander is a new experience altogether. For one, they were never this close to each other at the bar. They were also sitting down the whole time, so Robbe is only now finding out that Sander is slightly taller than him, his eye level coming up to the bridge of Sander’s nose, and Robbe wills himself to not glance down at his lips.

“Yo loverboys!” They both snap their heads toward Moyo, startled. “Free PDA zone!”

Realizing that their hands are still clasped together, Robbe snatches his hand back. He retrieves his board from Sander, avoiding eye contact as he tries to keep from combusting. Robbe doesn’t miss the way Sander’s face falls, kicking himself for the way Sander immediately schools his face into neutral territory.

“Whatchu doing here?” Moyo pulls Sander into a one armed hug, patting his back once before pulling away. Jens and Aaron come trailing after him, greeting Sander in kind.

“Oh, you know.” Sander lifts his camera that’s strapped around his neck. “Just taking some pictures.”

Jens and Moyo shout excitedly when they realise it’s an analogue camera, crowding into Sander’s space and asking him questions. Sander indulges them, showing them how it works; He points the camera at Robbe, who blinks dumbly at it, and clicks the shutter.

Sander is grinning at him when he lowers his camera. The only warning Robbe gets is the sound of something clicking right as Sander pulls on some type of lever before he points and shoots again.

Robbe snaps out of it when the boys start snickering. He covers the lens with his hand. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“You can take pictures of us skateboarding.” Aaron sounds so hopeful, Robbe winces.

Sander makes a non-committal noise. “I don’t wanna waste my film.”

“But you took two of Robbe!” 

Jens slings his arm around Aaron’s shoulder and drags him away. “Let it go, Aaron.”

Sander goes to sit on top of one of the ramps, legs hanging off the ledge, and Robbe joins him. He still feels bad for the way he reacted to Moyo’s words, doesn’t want Sander to think he’s in any way revolted by the idea of them touching, so he presses his thigh against Sander’s. 

Sander bumps their shoulders together, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re not gonna join them?”

Robbe watches his friends tussling, their indignant cries loud from where he’s sitting, aware of Sander’s eyes on him. He smiles at him, returning his gaze, deciding then and there that sitting close like this beats anything else.

“Nah.”

  
  


*

  
  


Two days later he gets a text from Sander. Attached to it are two pictures of him, looking completely zoned out in one, and wide eyed in the other.

Robbe recognises the pictures from when Sander took them at the park.

He’s grinning when he types out his reply.

_that’s an attractive look 😂_

_I know, I’ve got a good eye_

He spends the next few minutes holding his screen down against his chest as he lies in bed, taking a deep breath in to relieve the ache he feels right where his heart should be.

  
  


*

  
  


_I’m here, ring me up_

Robbe stubs his toe against his bedroom door in his haste to get to the front door. He needs to calm down, they’re just hanging out, nothing more. It’s not the first time Sander has come over to the flatshare, but usually there are others with them.

It was Jens’ idea. They were supposed to have a boys’ night in, playing video games because they found out Sander is shit at it and wanted to exploit that by turning it into a drinking game. Wanting to get a good night’s sleep and knowing they won’t get any if they stay, Zoe and Milan decided to stay someplace else: Zoe at Senne’s and Milan at a friend’s. But then at the last second, Jens and Moyo cancel on them, both on duty for babysitting, and Aaron has a hot date with some girl from one of his lectures. 

Now here Robbe is, in his empty flat, alone with his fat crush on Sander and Sander himself.

Sander frowns when he registers the silence. “Am I early?”

“No, it’s uhm...” Robbe fiddles with his fingers. “They cancelled on us.”

Sander pulls his phone out to check their group chat. He huffs out a soft laugh. “Shit.”

For the first time in the span of knowing him, Sander actually avoids eye contact. “Sorry, I didn’t check my phone.”

“No, no. It’s okay,” Robbe is quick to reassure him. He’s never seen Sander so out of depth — feet shuffling as he rubs at his nose — so Robbe tries again. “They literally just cancelled on us a few minutes ago. It’s fine.”

“And are you fine with me staying?”

“Of course I am!” Robbe winces at the volume of his voice. He should probably feel embarrassed at how quickly he answered it too, but it’s worth it to see the way Sander’s lips quirk. He breathes a little easier when Sander’s tone takes on a teasing lilt.

“You could’ve just told me you wanted to spend time alone with me, you know.”

Robbe laughs, sudden and relieved. If only Sander knew how true his words are.

“Shut up, asshole.”

  
  


*

  
  


“I can’t believe Aaron ditched us for a fucking date,” Robbe complains. 

They’re both lounging on his bed, Robbe with his head facing the headboard, Sander’s is by the foot. They’ve exhausted themselves bickering over which games to play, Sander saying he’s too much of a beginner to play _Fortnite_ and that Robbe should have some fucking mercy, Robbe insisting on playing _Fortnite_ because he just wants to bully someone on the game. When they realise they’ve spent more time arguing than actually playing, they call a truce.

“I mean, I would definitely ditch my friends for a date,” Sander says, “you’d do the same, don’t lie.”

“Yeah, I would,” Robbe concedes, not without minimal grumbling. He might actually be jealous of Aaron.

That’s how their conversation spirals into, talking about awkward first dates, even more awkward first kisses, and now Robbe is telling Sander of the time one of his dates took him to a poetry reading and Robbe ended up falling asleep the entirety of that date.

Sander is wheezing, calling him uncultured.

Robbe kicks him lightly. He curls up on his side so he can see Sander, who has his arms folded behind him, looking so at home in Robbe’s bed, it actually hurts.

“Best Date?”

“None, unfortunately.”

“Liar.”

“No, really,” Sander is laughing softly. “I know you think I’m some sleazy casanova, but I haven’t actually gone on that many dates.”

Intrigued, Robbe sits up. “Why not?”

Sander lets out a heavy sigh. “At the risk of sounding like a total cliche, I don’t really think I’d find the one through blind dates.”

“Where would you find them, then?”

Sander, who has been staring listlessly at the ceiling, flicks his gaze towards him. It roots him to the spot, bringing him back to the time when they first met; their eyes finding each other in the midst of flashing lights and sweaty bodies, intent bright as day without needing a single word.

Robbe can hear the pounding in his chest growing louder the longer they stay silent, but he doesn’t have the words to say what he wants, doesn’t think he can even say them. So he lays his head over Sander’s chest, soothed by the frantic beats that match his own. 

  
  


*

  
  


“Are you texting your boyfriend again?”

Robbe looks up from his phone, halfway through typing out a reply to Sander, his sandwich hanging off his mouth. 

“I’m texting Sander, yes.”

The look of exasperation on Jens’ face morphs into one of surprise, his mouth hanging open.

“Wait, you guys are —?”

“What, me and Sander? Oh, no.”

“What?”

“Well, not yet.”

Jens rubs his temples. “Not yet?”

“Uhuh.”

“You’re exhausting, man.”

“Oh, I know.”

  
  


*

  
  
  


They’re both in his bed again, lying side by side with _Space Oddity_ playing on Sander’s phone. Sander is explaining to him what some of the lines mean, getting distracted as he ends up singing along instead, constantly tries again, only to get distracted again.

Robbe doesn’t mind.

Between the slow strums of the guitar and the deep rumble of Sander’s voice, Robbe feels like he’s actually floating. His mattress feels extra comfortable today, engulfing him in a way it rarely does, his mind blessedly clear of any ill thoughts.

“I’ve got a question,” he speaks up as the song comes to a close. Doesn’t realise he’s on the brink of sleep until he hears his words slurring together.

Sander hums.

“If, hypothetically, I kiss you before we even have our first date, does that still make us boyfriends?” Robbe grunts when Sander sits up, jostling the mattress and breaking through his sleepy fog. “Or are we only, like, valid boyfriends if we kiss _after_ we’ve had our date?” 

“Are you asking in general or are you asking _me_?”

Robbe drums his fingers against his chest as he regards Sander, propped up on his elbow, looking like Christmas came early. Robbe grins at him. “I’m asking you.”

“So is it still hypothetical?”

“No.”

“Okay, then it depends.”

“On what?”

Robbe feels his chest seize when Sander leans down, looking at him through hooded lids. His gaze flits back and forth between Robbe’s eyes and lips. His breaths are coming in short when he feels their lips brush, a soft, barely-there touch.

“If you can wait _after_ a date to get your kiss.”

Sander cups his jaw, sliding a thumb over his cheek, and closes that last bit of distance between them, slotting their lips together. It’s soft and deliberate, the way Sander curls his lips against Robbe’s lower one, breathing out slowly through his nose when Robbe presses back just as lightly. Robbe sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Sander’s thumb press just that bit harder, readily opens his mouth for more, but then Sander is drawing back slowly.

Robbe shudders when their lips cling together, refusing to part until the very last second.

“So?” Sander’s voice is hoarse. He smiles when Robbe continues to stare at his mouth, not comprehending his question.

“Hm?”

“You gonna wait for that date first?”

“Sander,” Robbe whines. “Fuck you, honestly.” 

Robbe doesn’t wait to hear Sander’s smug laugh, grabs him by the back of his neck and kisses him stupid. 

In the end it doesn’t really matter what the general consensus say. What matters is Robbe knows he’s already halfway in love with Sander, so Ed Sheeran can suck it. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is supposed to be a birthday gift, but alas i'm a slow writer.


End file.
